


It was always you

by satellitetrash



Category: Psycho-Pass
Genre: Other, Reincarnation, a tiny bit of fluff i guess, very slightly nsfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 00:11:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2601449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satellitetrash/pseuds/satellitetrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Ah? No I just…” <em>Felt drawn to you.</em> Shinya knows this is not an appropriate answer. His eyes meet theirs. The familiar feeling won’t go away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It was always you

**Author's Note:**

> First real fic I've written in a good while? Help?? 
> 
> This is my first time writing koumaki and of course I did it from Kougami's POV because I'm better at writing Makishima and I don't love myself.
> 
> I HC Makishima as agender preferring they/them pronouns, sorry if this is a bit unsettling at first!

Something clicks in his mind when Shinya catches a glimpse of the white-haired stranger across the street. They’re gracefully moving with their head high, rather on the androgynous side. It triggers a stirring sensation in his guts. He follows them with his eyes oblivious to his surroundings as if everything else in his world had stopped an instant. His mind is focused on that person and that person only.

 

 

Romantics would call it a love-at-first-sight of some sort but Shinya never believed in these things. Yet he felt something… deep. Deep and warm like a quiet evening spent reading in a comfortable silence in front of a chimney. There is a pale, frail-looking person sitting with him on the couch between his legs. Shinya leaves his book aside, wraps his arms around them. They do not move but Shinya knows there is a slight smirk on their face (“ _It still surprises me at times, how_ cuddly _you are_.”, “ _Only with you”_ Shinya absent-mindedly replies as he rests his head on the other’s shoulder). He stares at the fire a moment. Everything is silent except for the noise of his partner turning the pages of their book and the crackle of the fire. Shinya tightens his hold, leaves a kiss on their shoulder.

The evening finishes in bed. They’re not _soft_. They leave Shinya bruised, bleeding if their razor is within reach, but Shinya loves how _passionate_ they are and he, too, leaves marks on the flawless, abnormally pale skin. He trails his fingers down their chest as they shiver under the touch, still too sensitive after their orgasm.

Shinya always kisses every single mark he left. The two never exchange sweet words. Despite their erudition and the long fascinating talks that brought them together in the first place, both give more value to acts and gestures.

By their side, Shinya feels complete.

 

 

“Kougami! You’re not listening!”

It’s only when Misturu drags him out of his thoughts that Shinya blinks and realises he has been staring at that person. He looks at his friend who’s giving him a scowl. But he’s not mad, simply amused.

“You’re spacing out, I keep telling you you work too much.”

Shinya shrugs it off without a word and reaches for his pack of cigarettes in his pocket, offering his friend one as an apology.

They keep walking side by side. Shinya isn’t listening as much as he’s simply hearing. He sees the white figure again in his head. Everything in him tells him to go after them because that is _how things should be_. He usually would never be satisfied with such a poor reason. He usually would never fantasise on a person he doesn’t know he saw in the street for a mere few seconds.

“Sasayama, go ahead without me.”

Shinya doesn’t offer further explanations before he turns around and crosses the street.

 

 

As if scared they might disappear right before his eyes Shinya grabs the stranger’s shoulder. It was a stupid reflex, Shinya realises too late.

“… Is there something wrong?” They ask, looking at him.

Shinya stands close enough to notice their delicate traits. Their long sleek white hair framing their face perfectly and their soft features create a surprising contrast between their apparent sophistication, unapproachability and this pure and almost childish innocence Shinya immediately sees.

A bright laugh resounds in his ears.

 

He immediately notices the child reading in silence at the back of the classroom before it was time to start. How could he not? Not only their physical appearance makes them stand out with their pure white hair and seemingly fragile stature but most children this age barely know how to read and Shinya had never seen one able to read a full novel ( _Sherlock Holmes_ he manages to decipher on the cover?). It looks as if they are not noticing the general mess and the excited laughs of their classmates.

They’re almost intimidating in their silent splendour and their serene expression. That’s stupid, they’re not even seven yet.

Shinya glances at the list of names he has been given. _Shougo Makishima_.

He still has a couple of minutes before the beginning of the class. Curious, he approaches the child. “Do you understand all these complicated characters?”

The young Shougo blinks twice as if Shinya just popped their bubble. They look up at their teacher and reply: “Almost all of them. I write down those I don’t know to check later.” And next to them on their desk, a pencil and a sheet of paper with several kanjis rather neatly handwritten for someone so young (Shinya tells himself that this child has a better handwriting than he does).

Shougo Makishima spent most of middle school on their own reading somewhere. They never seemed to care about the others, nor did the others seem to have the slightest interest in them. The quality of their schoolwork has always been far above average, their wit and reasoning was, as all the teachers agreed, “astonishing”.

Shinya has always liked the child and knew they had a great potential. He would stay after class to help them on their more personal projects. _“I’d like to be a writer!”_ And he never doubted one second they could do it. He was amused to find in his mailbox, about twenty years later, a book with the name _Shougo Makishima_ in golden characters on the cover. The young Shougo had left a note inside politely thanking his dear teacher for supporting them and encouraging them. Soon after, it was in the “best-sellers” section of most libraries.

Shinya felt fulfilled.

 

 

“Ah? No I just…” _Felt drawn to you_. Shinya knows this is not an appropriate answer. His eyes meet theirs. The familiar feeling won’t go away.

 

 

These deep amber eyes have seen a lot of things but the person they belong to seems unaware of it. Shinya feels sucked in. Their colour matches the one of the wheat at dusk. The field they both saw that evening. Shinya had only met Shougo Makishima twice and despite their overall unusual appearance, their eyes caught his attention the most.

 Always so calm and collected Shougo Makishima. Standing tall, taller than Shinya. A martyr forgotten by the system they both hate.

At this moment, they were the ones who had forgotten the system. Possessed by the sheer will to kill, Shinya chases them, follows the trails made of their blood – a fatal wound and he knows they would not be going very far. He finds them kneeling, panting, and unable to continue. They look pathetic. They both know this is over.

But in their eyes is the same sneaky expression Shinya always pictures them with. More than that, there is also joy and a slight ounce of relief. Amusement, passion.

Shinya does not see all these things. He stands behind them expressionless, his gun aimed at their head and his obsidian eyes cold as ice. Shougo likes to think there is a bit of _reluctance_.

 _“… After this, will you be able to find a replacement for me?_ ”

Shinya never could, he never will.

Shougo’s eyes lose all their radiance when Shinya pulls the trigger.

 

 

“I just thought you looked familiar. I’m Shinya Kougami.”

And maybe he hopes his name will awaken memories of a past life in the white-haired person in front of him.

**Author's Note:**

> I _may_ write a second part from Makishima's POV. Eventually. Maybe.


End file.
